


Legendary

by InkkEmulsion



Series: Apex Legends [3]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst at times, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, headcanons are used where the lore is sparse, lore heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkkEmulsion/pseuds/InkkEmulsion
Summary: Legends are forged through many different ways. Some from unfortunate circumstance and forced to rise up above all opposition, others stumbling upon great opportunity and chasing it for all it's worth.The Apex Games offers a chance for everyone to be renown in the wake of the Frontier war's conclusion, competitors showing to all that would bare witness their skill and expertise in an Arena where all that kept you alive was your wit and whatever weapons you could find. With the increase of reach the illustrious games achieve every passing season the bloodsport becomes more influential, inspiring new waves of applicants from all sorts of backgrounds from across the Frontier and beyond.Your story happens to begin twice. One with a theft of a radio broadcast, and again when you collide with a neon green blur.





	Legendary

**Author's Note:**

> Good greetings! 
> 
> Welcome to my humble fiction. I will warn you now, if you aren't fond of lore, character development and almost painfully slow burn relationships... Leave now. This is not the fiction you are looking for. If however you are still here, please, sit down and obtain yourself your favourite beverage. This will be a long one.
> 
> For a long time i've wanted to dabble in true fiction but none of the fandoms grabbed me until Apex Legends hoisted me by the throat and since hasn't let go. I love the fandom dearly- but it lacks 2 things. 
> 
> 1 being more Octane content.  
> 2 being more LORE. 
> 
> I like to pride myself on world building and adding on to canon, so this entire series being deliberately left open for the fans to interpret? It's like a creator's playground hunting for what little scraps I can find and delightedly piecing them together with a healthy dose of my own creative licence. I will be frank with you. This fiction exists for my own selfish gains, wanting to have a large fiction for my account. I also really, REALLY enjoy writing Octane so... I shamelessly decided to make a super big one. And by big, I mean about 50k or more wordcount kind of big.
> 
> So! Down to the nitty gritty. If you like my work, please support me on tumblr @InkkEmulsionWrites or my art blog @InkkEmulsion. Comments are eagerly awaited and likes graciously accepted. Please enjoy this weird ride that is this fiction, and I hope to see you all again soon for chapter 2.
> 
>  
> 
> (r/n) = Readers name
> 
> Malware = official in arena title for reader (as voted on by my tumblr fans)
> 
> \--- = short time skip
> 
> \--- = long time skip.  
> \---

“Agh, this is taking too long,” 

Octane murmurs almost anxiously to himself in his heavy Spanish accent, jumping in place and shaking out the nerves through his arms like usual. It was almost like a pre match ritual now, dancing in place much to the amusement and chagrin of everyone else around the neon green daredevil. How the Spaniard was able to do such a thing and still be so energetic after every match of the Apex Games was a mystery nobody had managed to solve just yet. 

At least he was aptly equipped for his active lifestyle, lightly armoured vest and matching neon green leather chaps giving him all the protection the speedster needed when running for his life from bullet fire. Between his bright white vest, equally white denim jeans and obnoxiously loud footsteps from his metal prosthetic legs however, it was no surprise just about everyone saw him coming. Something his teammates loved to point out constantly, but the laughter was quickly stifled when Octane reminded them that not many lived to see him going. It didn’t take a genius to figure that beneath the half mask decorated with painted on teeth and the goggles, Octane was smirking to himself proudly, and rightly so.

“They should let me drive- we’d be there in no time!” He boldly claims, switching now to inspecting if his landing gear and prosthetics were all in working order for the 50th time so far. A playful scoff comes from the corner, Bangalore leaning casually against the side of the dropship they were in eyebrow raised at Octane’s antics. If anyone else were around, they’d laugh at Octane’s comment. After the last antics of driving a ship of any kind, nobody was keen enough to let him near a vehicle. The dropship in question was a massive heavily armoured vehicle, hovering through the skies on industrial deep space worthy thrusters. Inside the main gangway split into rooms for each squad to claim, ready for when they would be jumping together and down into the arena below. The other sections were reserved for staff only such as medics and pilots, and as such were mostly unknown to the majority of the Apex Champions. Underfoot you could feel the steady hum of systems, and the occasional bout of turbulence in the higher wind speeds of this planet’s atmosphere.

“You’d only end up slowing things down,” the woman points out with a smug grin taking the place of her previously neutral expression. Gaunt, darker skinned with tightly curled hair shaved into a borderline Mohawk style, Bangalore was a soldier through and through. A good one at that, and she knew it. Her own armour bordering on the heavier side of medium, she was calm under pressure and never one to give an opening to an enemy. Her undeniable self confidence and smug exterior made Bangalore the perfect candidate to bicker away with Octane, acting more like siblings than professional Champions of the Games behind closed doors.

In this case Octane took the bait, standing up ramrod straight and acting so very offended. 

“Slower? Hermana I am built for speed! You are just so very.... Ah! Boring!” He is grinning beneath that mask and everyone knows it, almost dancing circles as his impatience takes a backseat in favour of tormenting one of his favourite victims. “With all those browns and greys, you should lighten up a bit, like me!” He gestures to his very neon and very elaborate get up, earning him an eye roll. Bangalore looks the daredevil up and down slowly, expression unchanging.

“All I see is an easier target to shoot. I don’t need colours to make my kinda shows interesting- I’ll leave that to the amateurs.”

It’s immediately obvious the solider hit a mark because Octane’s cocky posturing and dancing in place switches instead to defensive crossed arms and not long after running in place getting pumped for the drop. She can make out a few Spanish obscenities directed her way but he goes silent not long afterwards, leaving Bangalore to shake her head playfully and resort back to the quiet exterior she usually donned on the flights to the arena that waited for them. It was easier to plan when things were quiet- something that was direly needed considering in this competition losing meant death.

It was at that moment Malware chose to walk in, the hydraulics powered door hissing quietly as it opens and closes with a dull thud, completing the 3 man squad at last. The new arrival waves with a playful grin, Octane taking the chance to dash over and pull them further into the room which earns him a playful swat across the shoulder. “I’m perfectly capable of walking, thank you,” Malware points out with a look, unable to maintain the stern expression for too long. The Spaniard only shrugs and raises his arms in surrender but doesn’t go far, finally standing somewhat still after all the impatient gesturing he’d been doing. Bangalore for her part only rolls her eyes again, fully aware of the relationship her squad mates shared but stood up all the same, joining the huddle with a lazy gait.

“So what’s the ETA?” The soldier of the group asks, finally able to get some information on the journey they had purposefully left in the dark on. The Apex Games had a habit of keeping everything top secret from the competitors and it didn’t sit well with just about anyone but most of all Bangalore. A sudden bout of turbulence gives pause to the conversation, each team member taking the moment to steady themselves before the gust passes and the conversation continues.

“The security was tough buuuuuuut we’re about 20 minutes out. We’re on the southern reaches of this planet so I imagine somewhere colder if the geological positioning on the map is correct.” Malware checks the bulky device on her forearm, pressing a few buttons to display a small hard light hologram of the planet they were currently on, materialising into view about a metre wide in diameter giving a wide enough circumference to view with ease for the whole squad. With the hologram in place, it hovered just about chest height, able to be interacted with from what data their teammate had gleaned from the systems. Octane in particular was fascinated by the device, reaching out to touch the red blip on the orb-like map Malware had created. A label popped up, enlarging the globe to a 5 metre detailed span of the whole planet with the red blip turning into a very small dropship icon. Bangalore glances over with a mild frown at the daredevil, who shrugs innocently. The interaction is forgotten in favour of inspecting the new map.

The entire planet looks mountainous, vaguely earth-like but definitely not the planet where Apex City was located. Vast bodies of water paved continent sized areas and in a number of places there looked to be vast ravines scarring large stretches of land. A dotted line showing where the dropship was heading to lead to a somewhat large island off the coastline of a much larger landmass. The island had its own small range of mountains making the terrain rugged, ice and snow likely a very real possibility unlike the previous tropical arenas they had fought in together. Octane bit down a myriad of curses, both women casting a wry glance to his metal prosthetics and general sparsely clothed getup.

“Regretting your colours now?” Bangalore asks with a note of amusement entwined with sympathy making him puff up like an agitated bird. 

“Hah! Like a little ice and snow could stop me. You’ll be eating my dust in no time,” Octane throws back with a hint of venom and for a moment Malware looks between her two teammates, arms folding over her chest. Another wave of turbulence lasting much longer this time has everyone stumbling, reaching out to steady the other as best they can, Bangalore the only one to properly stand her ground and act as an anchor for the other two as the ship listed to one side and then the other quite dramatically. It lasted for a solid 10 seconds which is enough to warrant mild concern for the drop, the harsh winds outside likely being a very low temperature. For a moment, Malware is thankful they chose a practical outfit this time around rather than the flashy kind Octane liked to don for the arena and his stunts. 

All the metal in the ship made for a cold environment at 12,000ft in the sky.

“That... Didn’t seem normal,” Bangalore begins slowly, keen eyes narrowing towards where the door was. Neither Octane or Malware doubted her judgement, but all of them collectively shrugged it off when a male voice comes over the ship wide frequency, seemingly cheerful.

“We apologise to all passengers about the turbulence, it should subside shortly. In the meantime please prepare to drop, we are now 10 minutes from the drop zone. I repeat 10 minutes until the drop.”

Octane tsks, jumping in place again and goes back to inspecting the map. “Not much of a time advantage this time compadres but I’ll take it. I doubt anyone else has the map advantage,” He nudges Malware’s side, voice lilt filled with pride which the hacker in question doesn’t miss.

“Agreed, we have enough time to get the lay of the land and plan where we’re going to drop. Great work,” Bangalore comments, hand patting the hacker’s shoulders with a smile soft enough to imply a deeper friendship than either one really let on. Not quite sure how to handle the praise, Malware shrugs bashfully and smiles before pressing a few buttons on her forearm equipment. The hologram shimmers and flickers, shifting instead to a 3D map of the island. Clusters of buildings littered the centre, but the further you landed the less likely you were to come across some true cover. 

All three of the squad members crouched, assessing where to drop in on the map, trying their best to ignore the now constant abrupt shifting of the vessel and the intense tremors that ran through the vessel. The entire time Bangalore found it hard to focus, too distracted by the ship’s constant turbulence until the unmistakable sound of an explosion in the ship ripped through the already noisy space, ship wide sirens and alarms flashing cross the room and coating it in red light. In seconds everyone was on their feet, map forgotten in the sudden activity of movement and preparation for a fight but not the one they were expecting to minutes before.

The sound of muffled shouting beyond the door leading to the gangway as everyone taking cover either side of it, shots being fired prompting Octane to activate the frequency to the other squads still live somehow despite the close proximity to the drop zone. Bangalore provided vigilance to ensure nothing came through without a fight, ready to punch whatever showed its face.

“¿Hola? Does anyone know what’s happening? This is Octane from squad 11 respond por favour, we heard explosions and shots are being fired!”  
There is a moment where everything seems to occur at once. The doors are opened, masked figures entering only to be greeted by a furious Bangalore quickly followed up by her teammate beating down on the people who had just entered. None of them were wearing the Apex Games symbol, barking orders to shoot anything that moved but leave them alive only to be punched to the ground and met with extreme resistance. It was scary to watch her work, uppercuts mean enough to send one of the unprepared figures down for the count with snap reactions Bangalore only had a few seconds to think of before a rifle was pointed at her. A knee to the gut had another bending over in agony, the crunch of something breaking audible as Malware stops one from raising their gun at Octane who is still trying to call for help before abandoning it and sliding in low to trip up a few of the intruders. The group of 5 were taken down, only a few shots managing to be fired in the scuffle pinging across the metal panelling of the walls. 

The radio crackles to life, blaring through everyone’s frequencies soon after, Octane taking the chance to stomp a few heads while the group were down just to really make sure they were out. Guns were grabbed from bodies, the solider of the group taking the moment to look over the figures for anything identifiable. Weapons were taken off the bodies and ammo hastily taken from pouches, pistols holstered for potential later use.

“Oc-tane? This is Wraith’s sq-ud We copy! th- is something w-ng with the ship. Intrude---“ There is a big gap in the line, static blaring into ears causing everyone to simultaneously flinch before it reconnects. “Someone is tryi--- to sabotage t-“ another gap. “They –uld ---- Malware!”

The squad looks at each other, confused glances asking questions that currently had no answers. Bangalore grimaces. “Sabotage? Who’d be after the Apex Games? This benefits many people of the Frontier it wouldn’t make sense for terrorists to come after us,” she holds up what looks like a datastick, wiggling it suspiciously. Another explosion goes off much closer this time, sounding a lot more dire as the blast is followed by a sudden lurch and decrease in altitude. The sudden drop ties knots in Malware’s stomach, reaching out to steady themselves against the frame of the door.

“No idea amiga but we need to go! This thing is going to crash and burn and not in a fun way!” Octane urges, starting towards the door and the others follow with an unspoken agreement. Find the other squads if possible and escape this rapidly dropping ship. The moment they exited the room into the gangway other armoured figures shouted and opened fire, causing everyone to take cover in what little you could find. Structure beams supporting the gangway were just wide enough to hide their bodies from the incoming hostile fire despite the disarray of fallen panels and wiring sparking, Bangalore shouted out for others to help if they could if anyone else was still around over the roar of the fires beginning to spread. Voices muffled in the ensuing chaos made it difficult to determine who was friendly and who was foe but the distinctive sound of a shield being deployed not far behind you had your squad retreating into the safety of Gibraltar’s bubble shield.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Bangalore yells over the incoming blasts, retreating just behind the human fortress of a man in thick padded armour, arm decorated in a shield. Bloodhound and Wraith flank either side, weapons already on their persons as the swarm of enemies seems to never cease in the cramped gangway of the ship. Gibraltar simply laughs, jovial despite the dire situation they were in. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world brutha! See any others back there? We saved a few who already are waiting below but there are other squads still missing.” The lack of answer explains all he needs to know, the group of 6 returning fire as best they can. All of them are calm under the rising pressure but the increasingly erratic movements of the ship has Malware dipping behind cover as best they can within the shield and fussing with her hacking equipment. 

“I have the map for below! We’re all gonna need to jump before it’s too late and we crash, we’re at 10,000ft and dropping!”  
Gibraltar chips in, holding his ground as best he can but it’s clear the effort won’t hold for much longer. There is just too much, and the opposing force is advancing with increasingly faster pace. “We have a truce then? This game is toast and we need to figure what the hell is happening!” The agreement is unanimous from all parties, the shield beginning to fragment and glitch from the extended use. Gibraltar grits his teeth and pushes against the force, straining from the effort.

“We must go, time to run,” Bloodhound urges everyone, pulling on Gibraltar’s armour to encourage the fortress to move too. “Now,” the hunter presses, tugging them away from the plasma blasts that finally shatter the shield and ‘convince’ the pair to get going at last. Everyone else was already running, no time to look back only further into the ship with the exception of Bangalore. She stopped in place just long enough to pull a canister from her bandolier and pull the pin from just behind the final corner before the ladders down. Waiting for both Bloodhound and Gibraltar to vault down the steps with a nod, the smoke grenade was released into the long hallway they had made a stand in before being forced to retreat. It quickly smothered the place in thick smog that was even worse in close quarters giving any who still lingered enough passive cover to run without being seen, and potentially head for the airlock a few levels down.

Vaulting down the hatch and sliding down the ladder with practiced efficiency she ran to catch up, spotting the host of Champions running and only occasionally glancing back.

“Run amiga! You’re going to get shot!” Octane urges from down the way, stopping to ensure his teammate catches up just fine with the enemy forces almost literally snapping at their heels. Malware isn’t far behind, and all together you sprint for the exit just one floor lower. They catch up half way down, a plasma round catching the hacker in the shoulder and forcing them to cry out in pain. 

“I’ve been hit,” she gets out in a wheezy pained gasp, half running half being pushed by Bangalore who looks back long enough to see a grenade arching towards them, a sense of horror as it sails past them and instead where the hatch is that leads to the floor below. It rebounds off the metal wall and ignites, the following blast of light and shrapnel blowing out the airtight wall and contorting the previously intact armoured vessel outwards in vast shards, devastating in the enclosed space with nowhere to run. The shockwave from the explosive staggers both Octane and Bangalore but hits Malware into a metal beam, knocking them unconscious with a concussion to the head. 

The pressure inside the ship being so suddenly breached forces all of the oxygen to go rushing outside where fire and smoke clouded the field of view. Off kilter from the blast the two still conscious flail to catch some kind of grasp on the ship, Octane noticing at the last moment that one of his teammates was down but the ensuing fire that still continues despite the breach in the ship’s hull sends everyone forcefully sucked from the now exposed platform and spiralling into the abyss below, choking on heavy black smoke and blinded by the blast of the grenade that had caused their freefall into the unknown below. Bangalore and Octane manage to recover, descent guided and controlled while their unconscious teammate merely plummets, the dropship quickly leaving them behind as it dives downwards in its half destroyed state. The sound of sirens fade into the distance and below the island comes into view, Octane looking around wildly to spot his teammate.

::Bangalore where is Mal? Where is (r/n)?! They were unconscious from the blast I don’t see her!:: He demands fiercely over the comm lines, panic now officially setting in as the wind whipped at their faces and skin in the sharp drop towards land. Thinking quickly, the duo glance around to see a figure plummeting much faster than they, face upturned and arching through the sky limply like a doll. 

::There!:: He shouts out, spotting her first and angling into a complete plunge towards the rapidly approaching ground. They only had a minute of freefall and a part of that minute had been damaged by jumping at a lower height than usual thanks to the sabotage of the dropship. ::C’mon, c’mon!:: Octane urges himself faster, hand reflectively reaching towards his stims that lined his vest and right arm. Behind his goggles, his eyes water despite the air not being able to reach them.

::C’mon WAKE UP! (R/N)!!!::

::WAKE UP NOW!::

 

 

\---  
\---

 

3 years earlier.

 

 

(R/n) comes to consciousness with a start, the beginnings of her alarm trilling through the air with at times annoying efficiency. In the dim and dusty darkness of the early morning a full body stretch pulls at their somewhat lanky frame with a deep yawn- promptly followed by a grunt, and turning over in her bed sheets.  
“...MRVN set alarm for 5 minutes from now,” she grumbles with a sleepy slur to her tone. A cheerful robotic voice replies from somewhere in the darkness. 

“I cannot do that (r/n)! You specifically told me to not let you sleep in today, as you had to get up early to start work on the thrusters engines of Mr.Samuel’s ship!” The artificial intelligence informs them ever so helpfully. “Also that you had a delivery today for your new gear, which sounded very important.” A deep groan accompanies the cheerful information and the woman sits up slowly, mid length hair messy from the constant tossing and turning of the intense evening heat. Quietly they swore, earning a scolding from their A.I for the use of fowl language before flipping them off in the darkness of the room.

“Just because my optics cannot see the gesture, does not mean I cannot hear it being done,” MRVN states, their cheerful voice dipping into a slightly monotone wavelength. It earns them a soft laugh, before clapping for the lights to come on. It doesn’t quite work the first time, flickering slightly before finally relenting with the second clap. “Sourpuss, I’m an angel, don’t accuse me of being so vulgar.” (r/n) murmurs as they stretch one last time before getting up and assessing the room. It was somewhat messy from long term use, dust accumulating on surfaces that weren’t often visited but it was clear the room was well loved.

Simple in furnishings it was humble, but the equipment such as the computer was advanced for a backwater moon such as Montressor, forgotten in the wake of the Frontier war’s closing. The desk it sat at was decorated in all sorts of smaller parts and wiring half tinkered with, some forgotten and some still with tools attached to the parts from the night before. LEDs pulsed gently from the computer rig, hot pink and cerulean battling for dominance by side of the desk. Posters hung on the walls of various things, seemingly random but when viewed collectively a theme of music came through, no true matching genre to be found. Slanted blinds somewhat broken allowed bars of dull light in from the outside, framed by metal walls that had seen better days. 

“Hghhhh let’s get the day started shall we?” (r/n) asks themselves with a hint of remorse at leaving their bed to early. It was only 6am, but a full day of work was ahead of them. “MRVN can you send an email to my current client i’m heading out today to look at his ship? I’ll be there at 8am, thanks.”

The memorable jingle plays throughout the house of the message being heard, a hand patting the nearest panel the A.I was installed in as thanks. 

The entire home was decently sized when it was meant for only two people to ever be in residence at once. Living alone meant the place felt larger than (r/n) was ever content with, going about their daily preparations as planned the night before. Showered, hair and teeth taken care of, a simple tasteless ration of carbs for breakfast and finally dressed in their usual mechanics attire. A simple sleeveless shirt, trousers and overalls, combined with steel tipped boots for safety. Goggles and hair tied back, she hesitated as her hand hovered over the small calendar, ready to cross out today’s date. A few lines below was the 35th of Ambar, the ‘yearly’ anniversary of when their aunt had left the planet for work related reasons. The last call had been months ago and part of her ever wondered if they were coming back. Their job was important sure but...

A dull sense of pain filled (r/n)’s chest, before finally crossing out the date. Ambar 21st, a date that held no real significance other than a reminder that another day passed on this dull planet. Huffing quietly, she put the pen back alongside the calendar next to the front door and bid her A.I goodbye, walking out into the rising star now just barely cresting over the horizon line. Outside the rough scrubs of the wasteland greeted them, along with the already intense heat that hadn’t abated in the night despite the absence of nearby starlight. The oranges and golds of the rising star at least painted everything in a pretty light, twisting a wry smile onto the mechanic’s features as she walked. 

It wasn’t a long walk to reach the local station, living somewhat outside of the colony meant peaceful commutes back and forth. The dust was a touch unbearable on windy days but they were one of the lucky ones despite the lack of family around. Having a home mostly untouched by the warfare of the Frontier war was a luxury few could afford, most living in reclaimed IMC structures that had been refurbished to match the lifestyle of the surrounding colony that had thrived despite being mostly left alone. Newcomers would argue about (r/n)’s homestead, but considering so few people could actually fix space fairing vehicles on Montressor the woman was left alone, the locale knowing the person or being on first name basis with the mechanic having work done from her in the past.

The rugged looking bus finally meandered into the station, kicking up a trail of dust visible from miles away if the road was particularly flat. It was a welcome relief from standing in the intense light, seeking shelter immediately in the window shuttered vehicle to which the driver only laughed. “Still not used to the heat yet?” They ask, revving the pedal for a moment and setting off again in a wide circuit that ended in the heart of the local colony. The largest on Montressor, known as Croon. An absolutely terrible name, yet nobody knew how it came to be called that and any attempts of renaming hadn’t stuck through sheer laziness or ignorance.

“I’ll never be used to it. Gods be willing to gift us with some rain soon, this humidity is just too much,” (r/n) groans, melting (almost literally or so it felt) into her seat near the front. The driver only laughed, ambling along his route on dusty desert roads and ignoring the bumpiness of the journey. It was fun in a way, giving (r/n) a chance to ignore the world and zone out with what music they could play on their ancient phone tucked inside one of her many pockets with headphones in. They were low quality ones, just enough to get the job done but it was enough to please them, head subtly nodding to the beat of the latest song they’d managed to snag from whatever data had become available in this middle-of-nowhere place.

The arrival to Croon was mostly uneventful but bustling as always, other passengers that had got on alone the way filing out first into the densely packed settlement. Leaving the bus behind (r/n) took a moment to enjoy being lost in the diverse crowds that Montressor offered. It wasn’t an overwhelmingly friendly place, but the atmosphere of being so isolated out here was so strong that it had crafted a unique sense of community and camaraderie after the IMC left. When something broke that was important, the whole settlement banded together to ensure things like the buses and water sources stayed functional in this backwater place. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t pretty, but it was home. 

(r/n)’s shop was further out to the west of Croon, journeying through crooked streets that were never quite designed to hold so many people and the wear and tear showed it. Worn down attempts at cobblestone lined frequently taken pathways, (r/n) only stopping to buy a rather bland tasting fruit known as a plurp grown on Montressor itself. A fruit that juicy should taste a lot better, but here nothing did quite make sense.

They grumbled to themselves about the rising price, sighing as they opened up the warehouse like shop for the day. Within rested a truly massive ship for this section of space, disk-like in places but bulky in others. Years ago it would of been considered top of the line for deep space travel but with the rapid progression of technology, things dated quickly. A quiet huff exits (r/n) as they inspect the vessel itself, locating quickly what exactly their client had brought it in for. An entire thrusters had been damaged in the last landing, denting a vent wing (or several) and causing the heat from the vents malfunctioning to melt the ducts to the coolants and destabilise the entire structure on the back left side.

It was no easy or cheap fix, that was for certain. Still, that meant they were going nowhere if they refused since finding another mechanic skilled enough for the job in this place would be nigh impossible. It was also a serious payday, looking over everything and assessing just how much work it would really take. Still, they had explicitly stated that it didn’t matter what it took, they wanted off this desert moon and away into the Freeport System to somewhere much fairer in weather types. (r/n) Really didn’t blame them, knowing that if the opportunity came knocking they’d leave in a heartbeat. 

Though where... They weren’t quite sure yet.

Rolling up what sleeves they had and recording all their findings on this poor mess of a spaceship, (r/n) got to work with tools in hand, a static filled radio filling the silence of the warehouse.

\---

“It’s not gonna be a cheap price, Mr.Samuel,” (r/n) explains carefully, a frown on their face as her client circles the vessel now fully repaired. “I had to order in a lot of parts off world and I’ve pulled many all-nighters to reach the 2 week time limit you gave me,” she watches them inspect the damage that was there previously now nonexistent. The old man in question marvels at it, a disbelieving laugh exiting their throat. 

“No I don’t believe it would be. How did you do that?” He asks, quietly incredulous and gesturing at where the melted vent ducts had been, now looking brand new. (r/n) only smiles a touch bashfully, humbled by the praise. “I... Well to be honest, a lot of patience and hard work. I’ve collected a decent amount of tools in my time, and a nice supply of music to help ease the hours to be less painful.”

They whistle lowly, the silver haired enigma of a man (r/n) only knew as Mr.Samuel shaking their head in disbelief. 

“If I had skills like yours I would have left this wretched moon cycles ago and gone to some place like Solace City to build a business there. I had repairs done there once- awful stuff, they messed everything up for eons afterwards. You’d make a fortune!” They ramble as they continue inspecting all the various repairs you’d done. She only snorts at the story, fully aware how bad repair people could be when they were only in it for the credits. After everything was said and done, they gestured to the ship and spoke to (r/n) directly.

“So! How much exactly do I owe you? And be honest! I can tell when people are lying,” Mr.Samuel exclaims with a hard look, getting a little too close with his large glasses making him seem a little too wide eyed. 

The beginnings of a frown gather on the mechanic’s face. “...12,000 credits all together. Not including the shipping fees I had to pay for the parts.” He moves a little closer, poking them in the forehead with his index finger and thumb earning a sharp curse and a quiet glare. “And with those fees?”  
She pauses, mouth upturning a little more. “15,000. Total.”

There is a tense moment where she fears he might refuse but instead he bursts out laughing, patting their shoulder playfully like he was letting her in on a joke. “That’s all? Oh gods I should always come here for repairs. Or just ship you in off world if I can’t- this is fantastic! A done deal no problem with that. Now then! While I’m here... I don’t suppose I could trouble you with fixing my radio too? Damn thing is wired incorrectly I swear.”  
(r/n) chalks this day and the client up to one of the weirdest she’s had to deal with yet.

The late night atmosphere of the bar was feeling exceptionally sweet tonight, having landed an enormous payday for a mechanic in the middle of nowhere. It was during the repairs of the radio that something incredibly interesting had popped up, the last broadcast saved to queue before the client had left exceptionally pleased and boasting that their ship flew like it was fresh off the production line. It was always a wonderful thing having rich clients happy with the work done, but what she’d saved to her phone was so much more valuable.

A six hour long broadcast of something called the Apex Games. (r/n) had no idea what the heck it was, but asking around had yielded incredibly interesting results as she relaxed at the bar counter and pulled up a stool to listen to the latest round of tales at the Benbow Inn. 

Some mentioned the fame, others the riches that came with being a legend. What was always consistent in their story however was the Games were a bloodsport. People who killed and were damn good at it, but by the sound of it were resurrected later so did it really make it a bloodsport if the death wasn’t permanent? It was a confusing thing to hear about. Still buzzing off the trail of her last success, (r/n) orders one last drink for the night before heading home in the setting starlight cast across Croon.

Headphones in and the world fading away on the long bus ride home as the stolen recording kept you busy, your thoughts were swept away with what sounded like this glorious adventure of infamy and prestige. The match commentated over the top, (r/n) was able to imagine every action with vivid detail as it was described, following the story as it unravelled with every kill. It was still odd to be so enthused by a sport where people were killed for entertainment, but the more (r/n) heard the more they grew curious.

That curiosity grew to research, and that research grew into a faint hope of a plan.

How long had they waited for adventure to come knocking, disillusioned with the life they had come to know? They’d only have to flip through the calendar to know the answer, today being the 35th of Ambar, marking two years of an empty home and a hole which never quite felt filled. Yet here the answer seemed to be, trainee applications open and accepting candidates for the new season of the Apex Games. It had taken a stupid amount of waiting for pages to load, sourcing material online which was kept mostly hush-hush and at times cursing at her computer which MRVN had scolded her for time and time again.

Signups were in a few days, the closest one being Freeport space station protected by the Freeport militia, based over on the planet Harmony. The fee was a hefty 5000 credits, and from there... Well. From there it was walking the path becoming a legend- or so it was advertised. (r/n) didn’t trust it one bit, nothing was that easy especially involving one regarding fighting and killing but... The thought couldn’t leave her mind.

“Hey MRVN, is there any news from my aunt?” (r/n) asks, curled up in a ball beneath her sheets. Outside, the beginnings of rain after weeks of sunshine beginning to fall bringing with it blissful cold caught her attention as it hit the metal storm blinds on the windows. Soon the sky opened up and with it a torrent of rain heavy enough to rattle at the ceiling enough to be audible. The A.I takes a moment to check the emails and communication lines for anything of relevance. 

“There appears to be no new messages from your aunt Mara. Would you like me to play back old messages for you?” MRVN asks, seemingly aware of the quiet distress hearing their lack of messages brought. 

“No... No that’s alright. Thank you though, that’s all for now MRVN. Feel free to power down for tonight.” The quiet tone of acceptance followed by a soft shutter of the A.I shutting down made (r/n) quietly sigh, glancing around at the room she had called hers since she was accepted here long ago. It was a meagre living compared to off world folk sure, but it was everything (r/n) had ever known. Leaving it for some wild dream that could very possibly never come true? For violence and bloodshed? An uneasy feeling settled in (r/n)’s gut, unsure of what to choose.

Then the sound of rain filtered back into her awareness and the longing for something new panged at heartstrings with it. 

Sitting up carefully, they went over to look at the savings they had accumulated in a small box behind her computer. Including today’s spoils, ignoring 1000 for emergencies... It was just enough to leave and start a new life elsewhere possibly if (r/n) decided to. Most of it would go towards getting a trip off world to the space station, space travel and fuel in general being expensive and a hot commodity no matter where you went. Rounded up to 23,000 credits, it would last you a little while should she decide to pack everything in.

With a long hard glance at her computer, (r/n) got up and began writing a note to her aunt and thinking of how to say goodbye to someone who had already left a very long time ago.

\---

Lift off was something (r/n) would never grow accustomed to, whether it was flying a regular aircraft or sitting in a public transport waiting for the thrusters of the planetary ship to take off. 

The choice had been made and after her intense questions over the past few weeks, few were surprised when she announced she was leaving Montressor for greater things. Many wished them well, not liking that their only trustworthy mechanic was finally leaving offworld for new horizons but they understood well enough. After gifting the shop to the community until her return, and locking up the house after packing what few worthwhile possessions (r/n) had it was merely a matter of getting to the local shuttle platform that welcomed in ships from off world to planet side.

Only one vessel left per week and this week was finally the time to get on board and prepare to meet with destiny.

Or so (r/n) hoped. Her destiny was so uncertain by now other than get to the sign ups as soon as possible at the Freeport space station. Tinkering with that little bits she had brought along for the journey, she found herself re-listening to the audio broadcast she had stolen to calm her nerves and remind herself why she was setting out on this crazy journey in the first place. Ticket in hand and heart beating in (r/n)’s chest furiously like a war drum, she closed her eyes and sank into the cramped seat a little further, steadying her breathing as the ignition sequence began. 

::This is the pilot speaking, today we’ll be travelling to the Freeport outpost space station. Please remain seated for the initial take off and first light jump until the lights flash green. Ticket conductors will be round shortly afterwards to check the legitimacy of tickets and...::

Their words faded out after that, feeling the beginnings of the ships movements along the runway which angled upwards in response to the flight beginning. The takeoff ramp arcs high into the sky, the sudden force pushing (r/n) down like physical hands holding them back as the vessel is propelled forwards at an alarming pace. The entire surrounding rattles around her, giving the various passengers in the cabin cause to murmur in concern until the roar of the heavy industrial engines covers even that. Not even the headphones in her ears cover the noise as the flight leaves the runaway and guides itself further into the atmosphere and then the stratosphere, tearing away from gravity with an intensity only newer age vessels were capable of.

The G force pressing down on (r/n) is almost enough to make them pass out, unprepared for the sudden dark spots in their vision but with an almighty shudder the space vessel is free from the pull of Montressor’s gravity, and the steady hum of engines preparing to jump to faster than light speeds builds a newfound sense of excitement she had never felt before. Counting the seconds, everyone collectively yelps as the ship jumps from orbit and all around them the windows are filled with lights they were passing by. All of the starlight they were now racing faster than, watching streaks of it dance the opposite direction towards the moon they had left behind. 

It was a mesmerising sight, if alarming. Nobody had told the mechanic about what travelling through deep space was like despite all her work on ships very similar to this. Hues of blue and purple and white streaked past, creating a very unique lightshow that nothing could ever compare to-

all too soon the ship was slowing down, having successfully achieved the first jump of many on this long journey. Invigorated and somewhat dizzy (r/n) sits back up, laughing to herself over the experience. Her worries and doubts suddenly seemed a lot less troubling if that was the worst of what she had to look forward to. Only 5 more jumps to go, and she’d be meeting with destiny soon enough.

\---

...Perhaps she spoke to soon.

Pulling into the Freeport Space Station was easy enough, welcomed in with relative ease but finding anything in this place was going to be a nightmare. The entire station was easily 5 times as big as Croon, and the neon advertisements in every direction seemed to be set on confusing anyone who stared to long in combination with the people on the streets. There was an immediate difference to the people back home, their exterior loud and demanding in comparison to the quieter, more helpful front people had back on Montressor.

Merely walking the various streets (yes, streets. On a space vessel! Fascinating!) gave the vibe that everyone was out to steal from you, shifty eyes caught glancing at (r/n)’s pack more than once. Sticking close to less populated sections of the crowd in fear someone might try to pick pocket her, she sighed and tried to read the map one more time. Everything interlocked and crisscrossed so much it felt impossible to find the right direction. Those who could possibly help wanted money for directions which felt so very wrong, leaving (r/n) with a scowl on her face and an urge to punch more than one person. Paying people for a simple kindness like pointing them in the right direction? How stupid.

It was only when mentioning the Apex Games that people were slightly more helpful. Instead of demanding money or shunning them entirely, some outright laughed until the person in question realised they were serious.

“You wanna join? Yer’ funeral kid, but it’s back near the interchange. Look for a big red holographic banner with white text, can’t miss it.” One particularly grizzled older man shrugs, gesturing back the way she had came. With feverish thanks, (r/n) spun right around and went charging off, alarming a few that had been following her in hopes of an easy target to steal from. Bowling them over with an almost genuine sounding apology she didn’t stop, so close to her goal.  
“Hey! Get back here!” The particularly weasely one shouts in response, taking offense to the lack of regard despite being a clear hypocrite as he stumbled over his literal partner in crime and gave chase. “You’ll pay for that!”

Glancing behind herself long enough to catch glimpse of the pursuers, (r/n) could only laugh in response. They wanted to try and get her? They could certainly try. “You’ll have to catch me first!” She gloats with a grin, increasing the speed in her step to weave between the crowds artfully, laughing as the sound of many disgruntled people being shoved aside accompanied every action they took. They weren’t too bright by the sound of it and (r/n) wasn’t going to talk to them long enough to find out otherwise. Weaving between a group of maintenance drones they leaped over a particularly short person and kept going, turning a corner leading back towards the interstate and darting down an alleyway laden with garbage bins and cast aside boxes dented and left to rot.

Skirting the edge of the street the two pursuers just barely caught sight of the move, screaming out obscenities and threats with every step. There was a fence at the end of the alleyway but it was wired and flimsy, meaning with some effort and a lot of determination (r/n) was able to scramble over it just before they caught up, a solid kick landing against one that tried to grab her leg sending one to the floor with their lack of preparation for the blow.

“Fuck off, sicko!” She exclaims with a loud grunt from the exertion, landing on the other side heavily but it doesn’t stop them for long. “I’ll break your fucking nose if you touch me again!” (r/n) shouts over their shoulder with a middle finger thrown in for good measure. The sound of them climbing the fence however means they were indeed not giving up. Huffing, (r/n) kept running, now back in the street and eager to lose the two assholes on her six. The perpetual drain of stamina from carrying her heavy backpack was beginning to grate on her, sweat gathering unpleasantly but the interchange was so very close, just two blocks away. The mechanic’s feet carried her for one block longer before exhaustion set in, losing ground and having to turn and fight despite her reluctance to do so. These street thugs weren’t the first bullies she’d dealt with and hell if she’d let them be the last. 

Fists clenched in the ways her aunt had taught her when she was younger, a fierce snarl pulls at (r/n)’s expression, donning a defensive stance and waiting for them to approach. “You really want to fight me that bad? C’mon then! I’ll break your fuckin’ nose like I promised!” (r/n) declares and more than a few people take notice as they hadn’t stopped by an alley this time but instead in the middle of the street. The determined fiery spirit from the woman must not of been expected, as one of the pursuers falters for a moment before the older belittles them into fighting with a few barbs at their pride. A few “oooo”’s accompany the insults, a small crowd growing in a circle around the three individuals that seemingly were about to throw down.

Apparently this place was one for public spectacles. At least it had some similarities to Montressor.

“Stupid foreigner, think you’re so tough?” The weasel looking one spits, “let me put you in your place like the dumb bitch you are.” The venom of their insult doesn’t match the intensity they come at (r/n) with, strikes weak against the toned and semi-muscular arms she blocks with. The other tries to pile in, hitting harder than their partner but neither could match the well trained strength needed to work and lift metal on a daily basis. Their lack of physique in general suggested they didn’t eat very often, having little weight to actually throw around in any kind of fight.

Blocking until they tired wasn’t too hard, the blows stinging and likely going to leave a mark in places they had hit repeatedly. They had no stamina at all compared to (r/n) who was built to work long days and nights and had done for many weeks before this. When it was her time to fight back, she was sloppy in technique but punched like a truck. Kicking one in the chest to re-establish some space in the fight it turned into them pacing, circling and trying to get the upper hand while the now much larger audience encouraged the fight itself with chanting and cheering for every solid hit landed.

“Knock em’ down!” Someone shouts from the crowd. 

“I’m trying!” (r/n) shouts back, earning a laugh at everyone picked up on and a shout of anger from her opponents. One tried to capitalise on the distraction to their mistake, a solid backhand knocking them straight to the floor with a resounding whoomph. The cheers that accompany the connection of the hit made the crowd burst into applause, distracting (r/n) enough for the second to find purchase and launch themselves off the body of their ‘friend’ and connect their own blow of sorts. A kick from up high, forcing (r/n) to whip back from the impact and stagger just enough to skirt the edges of the crowd. Hands push her back in, still woozy from the kick and the follow up punches that land to her gut forcing loud grunts with each impact against her unguarded abdomen.

The crowd jeers loudly in response, shouting for someone to end it already. Forcing herself back into the blocking position (r/n) recovers enough to taste blood on her lips, realising her bottom lip had been hit hard enough with that kick to cause some actual damage. Furious, the fire that previously burnt a low ember came roaring to life and the restraint she had been showing dropped instantly. 

“Come here!” (r/n) shrieks with fury, forgoing the act of punching them in favour instead for reaching for a grip on their shirt. Expecting some kind of retaliation blow the grasp around their collar tightens and with an almighty wrench the weasel is pulled closer right towards her awaiting fist. The collision is in direct line with their nose, every bit of strength poured into that one last punch as her weight is lead with the forwards momentum of the punch. A sickening crunch as bone breaks and their cartilage keeping the structure of the mans nose splintering is felt against knuckles and finger joints, the scream of pain accompanying satisfying in a way (r/n) had never experienced before.

Sure she’d fought off thugs before but never had it been personal. Just a manner of defence, not cheered on by a gathering crowd all chanting for her victory. The man went down quickly after that, clutching their face through bloody fingers prompting (r/n) to wipe at her own face, eyes set in a harsh glare.  
“I warned you. Now stay down- or I’ll break your arms next.”

The crowds now bored with the entertainment over dispersed quickly after that, people breaking it up as quickly as the circle had formed with a few pats on the back from strangers before setting off to hunt down that elusive Apex signups banner. (r/n) didn’t have to look terribly far, the man standing by the banner having seen the entire fight. She approaches, still bleeding from her lip and panting heavily from the exchange.

“Are the sign ups still open? I’d like to join the Apex Games, please.”

The mercenary just smirked, and crossed his arms. 

\---

She’d been the last one to join the shuttle for the new Apex signups. Everyone else had already joined and were waiting patiently on the ship itself for the lift off. Part of (r/n) was excited that they’d be taking off so soon but the other half wasn’t looking forward to the G force that was inevitably going to come with the flight. Especially since she’d just been fighting and didn’t feel so great from the sudden burst of intense energy now that the adrenaline was fading and her forearms were sore. Bruises would be littering them tomorrow, that she was certain of. A few of the other Apex candidates gave (r/n) funny looks as she took her spot in the back of the shuttle but otherwise she was left mostly alone, able to plug in her headphones and give in to the temptation of rest until the journey to the next location began. A small smug smile can’t help but tug at her lips though, still savouring the sweet taste of victory, and the words of the mercenary who had collected her application fee.

“Nice fight. I think you’ll fit right in here.” 

Replaying it over and over in her mind, (r/n) wondered what the other competitors would be like from the different places around the Frontier. As far as she knew she hadn’t heard of anyone from Montressor entering the games or a bigger deal back home would of been made. Everyone else here seemed almost alarmingly nervous and quiet, a far cry from the adrenaline buzzed craze the mechanic had walked in as, 5000 credits lighter but feeling like it was the right decision as they reflected on the fight.

Being cheered on and encouraged to fight was something completely new- but she found herself liking the idea more and more. Fighting in the Apex Games would be no different to that right? Only you’d be paid for it and people would admire you for winning. Rising above everyone else and outlasting even the best of them- whoever the hell the ‘best of them’ were. Settling in and intent on enjoying the quiet while she could, (r/n) slumped into her chair, and relaxed.

“Welcome to basic training for new Apex applicants. These next two weeks will be the first step to solidifying yourself as an Apex Legend but they will be hell!” The drill instructor stands to attention in front of the pack of 60 collective people who had all signed up for the same path as (r/n), eyes harsh under the blaring sunlight. They wore a generic military looking uniform, only distinguished by the white and red Apex insignia embroidered into their collar. He paced along the 6 lines, 10 people long and everyone anxiously listening now that they had arrived to the undisclosed training camp. The room itself was large, but fairly plain. Typical brushed metal looking walls and stone floors, clean and tidy like everywhere else since the ship had landed and everyone disembarked. The only distinguishing feature of this room was the various red banners hung from the ceiling, all depicting the logo of the Apex Games.

“You’ll be tested in strength, agility, style, efficiency and skill! Those who are not fit enough to be considered for the games will be kicked from the course, and your chance will be over. My job is to sort out who’s the best of the worst.” Turning to face the front of where everyone else was looking, they gestured to the giant red banners in the centre of the room, the holographic overlay shifting to display large leader board with everyone given a number and score. Numbers 1 to 20 were white, while the numbers 21 to 60 were a dark scarlet colour, earning a few confused murmurs amidst the faux crowd. (R/n) understood immediately, the somewhat cocky confidence from earlier suddenly shrinking in her chest as the implication hit her full force. The instructor continued despite the whispers.

“Consider this your new reason to live if you really want to get in. Only 20 from this group will be chosen for the amateur games and given a place to stay in Apex City, the other 40? Sent right back to where you came.” The instructor chuckles to themselves like some kind of cruel joke was told as outraged cries rose up from the ranks of the trainees. Many of them exclaiming how this was never listed in the application forms. The man only folds his arms, fixing them all with a harsh glare, mouth stretching into a sneer. “So discouraged already? You wouldn’t last 10 seconds as a Legend. I’d suggest leaving now if you balk at the odds because it only gets tougher from here on out. This is a bloodsport, not a fucking picnic. You will be killed over and over for fame and glory, you will lose even if you succeed here and you should of known this when you paid the fee for entry.”

Everyone falls silent at that, despite the sullen and frustrated glares amidst the lines of 6. Another chuckle resonates from the drill instructor, gesturing to the various cameras that before were presumably there for security reasons.

“Training begins today with general assessments, but one last thing you should all know. The entire two weeks are being broadcast live for potential sponsors to cherry pick the best trainees before they even have a chance to progress, so… Don’t fuck up, yeah? Sponsors are the only way to really get paid in the games if you aren’t the next Bloodhound. So get busy impressing people.”

\---

They were not joking when they said the training would be hell even for the capable body (r/n) had going for them. Early morning starts at 6am were commonplace for the mechanic, falling into line from the rickety bunks of the barracks to the washrooms for basic maintenance and then the morning runs. Running 5 miles every day though was leaving her exhausted before it was even 10am yet.

She recognised it as basic endurance training, trying her best to not show just how hard it was to keep up at times since she was used to a slower but more intense lifestyle. A few recruits laughed as (r/n) lagged towards the back, flushed red as holocameras occasionally floated by to capture footage of presumably the ‘weakest’ of the group. The zoom in on her as the annoying little drone meandered by with ease made her glower and with a bit back curse, increased her pace to match the first half of the group. In the back of her mind, the rank of 42nd out of 60 grated at the mechanic’s thoughts, taunting her and urging her to do better. It somewhat worked, chest heaving as the fire that kept them going still licked at their lungs and aching muscles, sweaty despite the early start.

After the runs, the tests for the day began. It alternated between what skill for the day was on display for the live streams. Weight lifting, simple courses to run through, fighting other competitors and taking them down quickly. Only two days in and already a routine had been established. A very taxing, and tedious one leaving little to no room for personal time. (R/n) passed out the moment she hit the bunk, and when she didn’t? The phone kept under her pillow played the recording again through headphones, listening to the descriptions of the various champions that preformed in the professional leagues.

It gave the mechanic hope in the face of such adversity, clutching what little possessions she was able to keep when she had left Montressor for the Apex Games.  
This particular day was a large building with an oddly organic shape to the walls, decorated differently from the other parts of the compound. Whatever this place was, it was build with aesthetics in mind rather than the military like practicality the other buildings in the camp had in their design. In short, it was beautiful with all its brushed metals and silvery grey colours complimented by wood and stone in places. Cameras swarmed above, getting shots of everyone’s faces on the approach, some flying low and getting a little too close for comfort. The sudden increase of activity could only mean whatever this was, was a pretty big deal. An uncomfortable tension formed in the pit of her stomach feeling like a lead cannonball had been dropped onto them.

Turning sharply to address the recruits following behind them, their instructor gestures to the building and back to them.

“Today we’ll be running one of the first important tests that will greatly affect your ranking! Some of you familiar with the Apex Games might recognise this building after one particular season. This, is what we call the Gauntlet. A challenge, testing your speed and accuracy to take down targets while moving fast. I hope you all know how to handle a gun, because today you’ll be getting to grips with the armoury, firing range and then running the Gauntlet yourself.”  
They took great glee in the quiet panic that spread across a few people’s faces, clearly not expecting something big to occur only 3 days into the training.  
“Shall we begin?”

\---

Calling it an armoury was not an exaggeration.

Going inside the building and taking a sharp left, there was a large elevator that took them down the depths of the building in groups of 20 to the highly secure armoury and target practice galleries. Along the walls, posters of current or past legends lined every large space. All of them in different poses or levels of armour, below stats displayed in the signature white writing on red background. Every single one of the figures on the posters looked fierce, and while some somewhat ridiculous even those looked scary to fight to the death. All of them confident, and ready to win. One in particular caught their eye, the woman in the display stern looking but proud, rifle in hand and standing to attention.

(R/n) wondered absently if one day she’d have a banner like that down here too one day.

Inside the armoury itself was hundreds of guns lining the walls, enough to equip everyone of the same weapon at least once if they so chose, so much to take in at once that (r/n) didn’t know where to look first. Armour was at the very end, vivid colours decorating the equipment making (r/n) step towards it until the instructor caught sight and placed a hand on their shoulder, effectively stopping her in her tracks before she could go much further. Steering the mechanic back into the core of the group now gathered around the centre in a large cluster, the instructor began to speak up, explaining what was about to happen with very specific wording and completely ignoring the questions from (r/n) as to why they couldn’t go that direction. With a huff she settles, paying close attention to what their trainer had to say.  
“This as you have guessed is the armoury. Down here, every single weapon currently used and permitted in the Apex Games is stocked for use by all of you under my strict supervision and the various watchers who will be keeping tabs on those not familiar with gun safety and etiquette. Not a single round will be fired or loaded unless it is in the firing range, and under my watch do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nods, excited to finally get to grips with the more flashy part of being a Legend.

“Those who have never used a gun before, please raise your hand. This will not affect your ranking but you will require extra training to ensure you have an equal chance,” he looks around sharply at everyone and more than expected raise their hand. About a third of the group sheepishly raise their hand, warranting a quiet tired sounding sigh from the trainer.

(R/n) didn’t raise their hand, recalling a very long time ago using a pistol once to shoot some bottles back on Montressor, supervised by one of her friends at the time. They had been a touch rebellious and eager to find themselves off planet, chasing after a dream. What make the pistol had been? She couldn’t remember, nor the face of the person who had instructed her very carefully the rules of using gun. What she could remember though was the heavy recoil, knocking her back a foot in surprise to the laughter and amusement of her friend.

“No no… Like this,” they adjusted her stance, angling her arms up and lowering her form to prepare for the kickback.

“Never put your finger on the trigger unless you plan to shoot- and for the love of god, don’t ever look down the barrel, even if it’s not loaded. That’s just plain stupid.”

(R/n) smiled to herself absently at the memory, half lost in the moment until the group broke off and people began grabbing weapons from the walls, causing her to snap to attention. A few people glance over weirdly at her lack of movement when some were eagerly skipping over to a few of the rifles that looked quite heavy. Apparently it was finally time to do some target practice- (r/n) offered up a quiet prayer that her aim wasn’t complete garbage, and walked off to pick her load out to try. It couldn’t be as hard as the 5 mile runs, right?

Gazing at the massive expanse of the armoury and realising she had absolutely no clue what the difference or make of them were at all, another sinking feeling gripped at her chest. She was going to have to run the Gauntlet with no prior weapon knowledge other than how to fire a pistol.

Marvellous.


End file.
